Breaking the Fourth Wall
by Trixy BuenaSuerte
Summary: It's a chance I can't pass up. A chance to save so many lives from grief (Malik) and suffering (Ezio) and death (Desmond). A chance to rewrite the story the way I would have written it. A chance, an opportunity, a gift, one I'm not about to waste. Here's to wishing me good luck! Mom, Dad, I'm going on an adventure. — Jennifer P.S. I'm taking Kenny with me.
1. Prologue

**Prologue **

"Epona!"

The cry is loud and unexpected after the constant _clip-clop_ of hoofed feet on dirt and Desmond almost loses synchronization as he starts. After days with only the horse for company can you blame him? He's currently in the animus, experiencing the tedious one week trip from Acre to Masyaf and he's so damn close to yanking his hair out in boredom.

He hates the damn trip to and from the cities more than when he's being chased by templars and guards or when he has to wait around in his room for Vidic to decided it's time for him to go back into the animus. It's like its own form of torture and he wonders if they're making him relive the trips on purpose.

Maybe if he stopped mouthing off to Vidic he'd be allowed to skip these parts of Altaïr's memories?

It's not so much that he has to spend one week—sometimes more—traveling that he hates but that he spends the one week alone. Even though he's reliving Altaïr's memories, the Assassin's thoughts are cut off from him. Sure, he can see, hear, and smell—fucking _smell_—everything Altaïr can but he can't relive the man's thoughts. Which is kind of odd if you ask him, I mean, the animus makes him relive everything expect that?

I guess not even millions of dollars and a high-tech machine can make you a mind reader.

Everything else is as clear as day though; he can feel Altaïr's annoyance when he becomes exposed, can hear the shouts of all the citizens as they scream in panic, and can smell some of the ones that desperately need a bath. It makes him wonder though; couldn't they have left that one out? Hell, the smell of horse is so strong that he's been smelling it in his sleep!

_But that could be the bleeding effect…_

The horse stopping rather abruptly draws his attention back to Altaïr's memories and as he tries to spot what has caused such a sudden stop he gets hit with an overwhelming sense of curiosity from the Assassin. It has an underlying trace of irritation though and when Desmond spots two figures standing at the entrance to Masyaf gates he realizes that he's arrived at his destination.

One of the figures shoots forward and into the last rays of the dying sun as he climbs down from the horse—a black one with bits of white—a few feet away from them. It's a girl and she's a petite, small thing but when she comes into focus Desmond can't look away. She's big green eyes hidden behind thick black glasses and pouty pink lips with endless locks of brown hair that fall in loose curls down her back and yet she looks odd.

Her features too sharp, too real.

She doesn't look like a memory—Desmond can _see _the texture to her skin and clothing unlike the smooth surface of all the other objects in Altaïr's memories and he knows that if he reaches out he'll be able to feel the softness of her cheek. Something's not right, Desmond knows but there's not much he can do about it so instead he settles for unsaddling his horse just as the girl reaches them.

"Oh, how mommy's missed you! How's my baby doing, huh? Did the mean old Assassin treat you well?"

Desmond starts and loses a bar of synchronization as the girl's words reach his ears. He's never heard anyone talk like that in this year and he watches, confused, as the girl all but shoves him—Altaïr—aside in her haste to get to the now softly nickering horse. How is she not afraid of the lethal Assassin when knowing what he is? She throws her arms around the horse and it's only then that Desmond realizes she's wearing a sweater.

Not just any sweater but one with a zipper and a fucking Batman symbol on the front.

It's not right, not logical but all Desmond does is watch and wonder if the bleeding effect has finally gotten to him.

"I thought I told you to wait for me at home."

_Home? Does Altaïr live with her?_

The girl ignores Altaïr's words and shrugs off a bright turquoise backpack Desmond just realized she's carrying. He briefly spots the logo _Jansport _as the girl unzips her bag and pulls out a small bundle of carrots.

"No, you said to wait until you got back and you have," the girl says as she feeds the horse. "Besides, I wanted to make sure Epona was okay," she mumbles and Desmond eyebrows draw together in confusion at the name. He's so fucken sure that's not a common name in the twelfth century, pet or no. It's not Arabic, English maybe but certainly not Arabic.

"Jennifer."

Now that is certainly English.

"Oh calm down, it's not like we've been here long. We only just came through, besides Mother and Father want to know if you'll be joining us for movie night. We're watching Shutter Island," the girl chirps and this time Desmond can't keep himself synchronized.

He shoots up in utter surprises, shattering the glass screen of the animus as his head collides with it while he gasps for breath. Blood trails from various scratches on his face but he ignore them as he rolls off the animus and scuttles across the room. He can hear Vidic and Lucy yelling over his gasp but can't reply because he's still mentally stuck in Masyaf 1191, still looking down at the petite, brown haired girl with the too big glasses resting on her tiny nose.

"Jennifer."

He's still stuck on Jennifer and movie nights in Masyaf, 1191.

_What the fuck!_

**_This will mostly be based on the book (Yes, there is a book)._**

_"Assassin's Creed: The Secret Crusade by Oliver Bowden"_


	2. Ch 1

**Chapter 1**

I can't help but stare at the computer, eyes wide and blank as my thoughts are a million miles away. The bright screen lights my face and illuminates the pitch black room but only by a little. My eyes are locked on the green words on the screen and my mind races a mile a minute at the prospect of what I would do if this were ever to be real.

"_If you could bring one video game character to life, who would you choose?"_

Ah, video games, I loved them with a passion though, between you and me, I suck horribly at them. I can't count the number of times I've fallen off of ledges while playing _Batman _or _Sonic. _Complete and utter failure, I am. But I just love the thrill, the excitement of just barely outliving the next boss.

The cold sweat I'm left in while I cry in triumph as I finally defeat the huge ghost monster in _Sonic Adventures II. _Or the racing heart and sweating palms as I try gear myself up to go again after another failure, to try to finally defeat that giant centipede in _Legend of Zelda: Wind Waker._

The adrenalin rush is addictive and I'm hopelessly hooked. Hell, I have the controller of my PS3 resting besides me even as said object is turned off because one never knows when the inspiration to play will hit and I don't want to be stuck looking for the controller. The remote for my Nintendo Wii sits next to my TV right by my Nintendo DS and PSP where I can keep an eye on them in case they feel like going 'poof'.

I'm a nut case, I know.

I blame my brother, he was the one that got me hooked but, unlike him, everything I have, every video game and console was bought with money I worked for while my parents bought him his. Why? Because girls should play with Barbies and not game consoles. Even my Plasma Television was bought with my blood, sweat, and tears but that's more because I wanted the luxury to play on a wide-screen than my parents' refusal.

I'm sure if I would have asked then they would have agreed—hell, Mother even offered once—but after so long of getting everything on my own it left a bad taste in my mouth to ask. Which reminds me, I need to get the latest _Batman _and _Assassin's Creed _soon but first and foremost, I need to finish _Assassin's Creed III _and _Batman: Arkham City._

Ah, but the Xbox is busted so I can't finish _Batman_. By the looks of it, I might even have to start over because I might just get a completely new console. Either way, if I pay to get it fixed, all the memory will be wiped out.

I tap my fingers against the keyboard while I think about my choices, the words on the screen forgotten or at least they are until a sharp chime from my computer brings my attention back to it. I wince as I realize that I've accidentally pushed one too many buttons and the computer's protesting the mistreatment. With a blush I clear away the Error Message and once again my attention returns to the words on the screen.

Everything in me screams Batman and I have to physically stop myself from writing it in reply to the question because really, let's think about this. Batman, the super rich playboy that doesn't know anything but the rich life and fighting crime in my world—supposing that I'm just bring him to life and not all his millions—it's a plan headed for disaster. What would I do if he decides to go around playing vigilante in my sweet little town?

If the cops got their hands on him they'd ship him to the loony bin in a straight jacket. No one's going to buy that he's Bruce Wayne because Bruce Wayne is nothing but a fictional character. So he's out and so is Sonic because, while it's all fun and games when he's just fictional, having a three-foot tall, blue, talking hedgehog running around will probably freak even me out.

Having a little Link—and by that I mean the one specifically from _Legend of Zelda: Wind Waker—_running around would probably be fun but I really don't want to have to pay millions in broken pottery—assuming that I'll have to take responsibility of them which I probably will.

Mario?

He might end up killing my big brother's rare Leopard Tortoise, and I really don't need that. Nah, not Mario. Nobody from _Grand Theft Auto, Call of Duty,_or _Halo _either, that's for sure. Nathan Drake from _Uncharted_ sounds like a good pick but then he might have me following him on cave explorations.

Someone from _Gears of War _might be a better choice. I could take them out of that horrible environment and they could spend the rest of their days in peace. Let's see, Baird? No, even if he's hot as hell he's a narcissistic bastard and might even have me waiting on him hand and foot. Marcus? No, I feel like he'll be in turmoil about being in this fight free world while the rest of his men are fighting for their lives. Dom? Sam? Anya? Cole? No, no, no, and no. Everyone from _Fifa, Madden, _and the like are already alive so that's an automatic no.

Oh!`

I know! Joker!

…

…

Um, never mind, that's about as bad of an idea as Batman, if not worse. I don't want to end up in jail, mind you. Or strapped to some explosive or other because he doesn't believe me when I tell him that Batman doesn't exist in this world. A choked laugh escapes me at the thought because it's only then that I realize that I'm actually thinking about this as if it would actually happen.

I always did have an overactive imagination.

With a sad shake of my head I close my laptop and stretch. As soon as the laptop is close I'm plunged into darkness and for a few seconds my old phobia comes back to haunt me before I flick the light on. As the light chases away the darkness I slip on some slippers and make my way to the kitchen.

A snack would be much appreciated right now but as I walk to the door my eyes catch the box of _Assassin's Creed_ lying innocently next to my PSP and the perfect answer hit's me.

_Altaïr._

I race back over to the laptop and open it without a second thought. It flickers on instantly and I type in my answer quickly before shutting it close again and padding my way to the kitchen. Feelings of content swirl in me as I go and I can't stop a lazy smile from reaching my lips.

Though, all thoughts of video games and fictional character vanish from my mind as my stomach gives an angry growl. Shit, when was the last time I ate? When I came home earlier today maybe. Working the night shift sucks, especially since you seem to lose all track of time.

Thank god I have the weekends off.

I make sure to flick on lights as I go so that I won't be swallowed up by darkness and when I finally reach the kitchen I rummage through it without thought and pull out all the things that look yummy. By the end of my rummaging the counter is full of so many things that I have to put more than half of it back while I decided just exactly what to make.

I settle on some hotdogs and chips while I go through the food and put back what I don't need. With my food chosen I turn to grab the hotdog bread from the cupboards and that's when I hear it.

It's a crash, loud and yet oddly quiet and my heart starts a fast pace at the sound. With a deep breath I slowly turn to look behind me. The sound seems to have come from the living room and I walk over there quietly, making sure to press against the wall just in case it's an intruder though I'm sure it was just my family. They probably knocked something over while coming to get a glass of water. I mean, it is the middle of the night. Unless…

The light attracted burglars.

I clutch the bread to my chest as I peek behind the wall into the living room. There's no one there and everything seems to be in its place as I skim my gaze over to the Television and couches but when my eyes land on my mom's precious chandelier (or at least where it's supposed to be) my eyes widen. I quickly look towards the floor and gasp at the colorful glass that litters the floor.

Mom's going to have a cow.

I step slowly over the glass, bread still clutched to my chest, and look up at the ceiling. How in the hell? The Chandelier's been up there for well over five years, how could it suddenly just come down like that? It took a huge chunk out of the ceiling too.

I snap my eyes to the one that hangs above the dining room table and give a relieved sigh when I find it still hanging from the ceiling in one piece. Well at least she won't have too big of a cow if that one's okay, right?

Especially since it's the prettier, more expensive one.

'_Crunch'_

My heart stops in my chest and ice-cold fear freezes the blood in my veins. A little voice inside my head screams that I'm just overreacting and that it's my mom or dad or big brother but I know if it had been them they would have been shouting and asking what had happened before they could see the full extent of the damage.

Before they would have stepped on the _fucking _glass.

I can feel eyes on my back and I glance at the front door—something I should have done first to make sure this was not a burglary—and find it locked. My eyebrows draw together in confusion. If this isn't a burglar than who is it?

Is someone trying to scare me?

Everyone knows I'm the most easily frighten person on the planet. Those sons of bitches! I turn, insults already on the tip of my tongue and my hand clutching the bread rises to throw it at whoever's trying to scare me. Though, when I see who's behind me, the words die on my lips and the bread falls from my now limp hand. It's not my brother or any other family member for the matter.

Aw, fuck, we _are_ being robbed.

Fight or flight, it always comes down to that when you look potential danger in the face and as I stare at this hulking figure clad in white—what an odd color to chose for a robbery—no need to scream comes, no yell builds in my chest and the only reason why is because I know that screaming will only bring others—both my family and his group and I don't know how many burglars there are.

I don't give him a chance to make the first move as we stare each other down. I bolt, narrowly avoiding slipping on the glass, and race towards the door. My reaction must have taken him by surprised because it's not until I have the door open that he gives chase.

I race outside, feet pounding against the concrete loudly and I reach a hand out desperately to open the front gate just when I feel strong powerful arms wrap around my waist. I struggle against his hold and use my own momentum against him as he tries to hold onto me. I send us falling and we land in a jumble of arms and legs as we roll across Father's freshly trimmed grass. Even with my escape ruined I don't scream, I can't bring myself to, and at this point I don't even know why anymore.

We wrestle against the grass until I end up panting heavily under him with my hands pinned beside my head by his and with his knees on both side of my thighs, holding them together and stopping my thrashing. Pants tumble from my lips as I tug helplessly at my arms but his hold doesn't budge. He's a strong one, I'll give him that and I glare at him as I continue to try to escape from his hold.

"What do you want," I growl out at him, I can't see his face, it's hidden by the cowl of his white hood and the darkness helps keep his face hidden. I get no response and I strengthen my struggles but it makes no difference. With an angry huff I slump into the grass and close my eyes while trembling slightly as I've brunt through the adrenaline. I'm not getting out, he's too strong.

I just hope nothing happens to my family.

"_Who are you?"_

His voice is deep and rich and my eyes snap open at the sound as heat trails down my spine. His voice is an orgasm. No, bad girl, bad! You are so not getting all hot and bothered by your soon to be rapper, murderer, or kidnapper—whichever it comes down to. I glare up at him and thrash once before turning my head away from him defiantly. No way in hell am I giving this sick bastard the pleasure of knowing my name.

A hand, cooled by the crisped night air, grasps my chin and tugs my face back to his while the other takes both of my hands and pins them above my head. I hold my glare and don't flinch as his hand goes from my chin to my glasses—that have somehow managed to stay on—and he runs his finger over the black frame.

Oh dear lord, please don't tell me he has an eyeglass fetish.

While he studies my glasses I take the moment to study him back and stare in confusion as I take in his apparel, or as much if it as I can see. There's a belt around his waist that can seriously be mistaken for a waist clincher. Many leather straps wrap around his white tunic and when I spot them my blood runs cold with a different type of fear because I _know _that look. I've spent many hours staring it while controlling a completely fictional character in a fictional world.

This isn't a regular man above me.

This is an Assassin.

This is…

"_Altaïr."_

Oh, someone is so getting their ass kicked for playing this kind of prank on me. I give an angry huff and in doing so I miss the way the figure above me tenses ever so slightly. I renew my struggles and in his surprised state I actually manage to slip one of my hands from his hold. So I swing without thinking and when my fist connects with his chin a satisfied smile reaches my lips. Taking advantage of his now completely stunned state, I buck him off completely and stand without a glance in his direction.

I bet every penny that I've been saving up to either buy or fix my Xbox that this is all my big brother's sick plan. I ignore the sound of my attacker rising and march into the house, expecting to see big brother laughing his ass off while holding a camera with all of his little friends laughing at my expense. Or hell, maybe even one of my uncles but I find nothing but an empty living room and shattered glass.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand and I take a deep breath before turning back around and facing my attacker who stands a few feet behind me. So if big brother isn't trying to pull one over on me than who is this guy and did _he_ break mom's chandelier? He's going to pay for that, he knows that right? Well, he's not being hostile anymore and it really doesn't really look like a robbery.

Maybe he's a lost trick or treator? I mean, it's not Halloween but what else can it be? Unless, he's a cosplayer that got lost on his way to E3? Wait...E3 was weeks ago…who the fuck is he?

_Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad._

Yeah fucking right.

Well, this mess isn't going to clean itself, now is it? I huff and puff all the way to the kitchen and I groan as I grab the broom and dustpan from beside the refrigerator and a bag from under the sink. I fucking hate sweeping…Especially when it comes to mess I didn't make.

With another huff I head back to the living room to find my…_guest,_ I guess you can say, standing by the front door. Funny, I would have thought he would have left already. Wait…why the fuck did I leave him alone…in my house..._after he probably broke in!_? And why haven't I called the cops to tell them about the strangely dressed man in my house?

Mom always did say I had a few loose screws…

Loose screws or not, what kind of burglar doesn't leave once they've been spotted? _And why the fuck am I cleaning his mess!_

At that thought I have to stop myself from throwing the broom at him or attacking him with it. Instead I continue sweeping until I'm sure I have all the glass in a neat little pile. He continues to watch me, shoulders hunch in a little and head down, and just like that I can tell that he definitely broke mom's chandelier.

A cow.

Mom's going to have a cow.

"It's your mess, clean it the fuck up, _now_," I growl at him as I thrust the dustpan into his hands and point at the shattered glass. "You have no fucking clue just how expensive those shits are. Dad's going to have an aneurysm! And mom, God! You better fucking run before she gets her hands on you especially if you don't even have the decency to clean it up."

With another frustrate groan I turn and make my way back into the kitchen because there's nothing else I can do. I should probably wake Father and let him know but he had a long day at work and I would feel bad about waking him up.

Besides, there's nothing he'll be able to do. We'll need to call an electrician or the company that installed the chandelier to fix this. Well, fix the ceiling, there's no hope for the chandelier. It's totaled and standing here worrying over Mother's wrath won't change anything.

Besides, I have hotdogs with me name on them in the kitchen.

I picked up my abused bread with a huff from the floor and make my way back to the counter where I left my other ingredients. I love hotdogs because, when cooked right, they can be absolutely delicious! Especially wrapped with bacon and topped with caramelized onions.

Damn, I'm salivating just thinking about. Unfortunately I don't exactly have the patience to caramelize onions right now. How can I after what just happened? Particularly since it seems the Chandelier Killer still seems to be hanging around.

_Why haven't I called the cops yet?_

He's standing at the doorway that separates the dining room and kitchen, a full plastic bag clutched in his hands and after I motion to the garbage can I go back to spreading mayo on my hot dog buns.

'_My anaconda don't want none unless you got buns, huh.'_

Okay, ew, where the fuck did _that _come from?

Even after he throws the bag full of glass away the Altaïr wannabe sticks around and I'm not sure how I can tell with the cowl covering his face but I know he's staring at my food. It's getting kind of awkward actually…does he want some? I mean, if he does he could just ask….

I'm going to have to feed him aren't I?

Damn it.

I quickly set to work on another hotdog and try my best to ignore the fact that he's watching me rather closely as I prepare our plates.

_Why am I feeding him?_

Ah, because I was raised with manners.

Once the food is done I take both plates to the dining room and motion him to sit while I get something to drink. A coke sounds absolutely refreshing and I grab two from the fridge before heading back to the dining room and taking a seat across from my uninvited guest.

As I take a seat I realize that this Altaïr wannabe has yet to touch his food and I roll my eyes and dig in. Though when he continues to stares at me from under his cowl I begin to get just the tiniest bit self-conscious.

Is there food on my face? I'm eating so there probably is. I wipe my mouth on a napkin quickly before taking a drink of my soda. His still sits unopened and when he makes no move to open it or eat I set my food down with an annoyed huff.

"Okay, what is it? What do you want?" I ask annoyed. He says nothing for a bit and just continues to watch me and right when I've just about had enough of his silence he talks.

"_How do you know my name?"_ he asks and I feel my eyebrows draw together in confusion while I take another drink of coke.

His name?

"I don't," I answer, confusion as plain on my face as it is in my voice and he cocks his head to the side at the admission. I really don't know his name and if he really is one of big brother's friends then it should be no surprise that I know it but I haven't even called him any names—Mother would have killed me if I did. Still, I think the only name I've said out loud while in his presence had been…

"_Altaïr…Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad."_

Oh shit.

I shoot out of my chair so fast it topples to the floor and he stands as well. But I don't move back from him, instead I reach across the table and grab his left hand without much thought as to how he will react. And when my eyes land on what I'm looking for, or rather what isn't there, I freeze.

His finger…he's missing his ring finger. The finger he gave up to show his devotion to the brotherhood…_He's missing his fucking finger_! My heart once again races and I pull away from him with what I'm sure is a horrified expression.

Altaïr.

Aw fuck, _Altaïr_.

_Either he's a rather devoted cosplayer or something is horribly wrong._

I don't what I expect to find as I race to my room and throw open the computer, once again leaving the intruder alone in the house. Not that I care at this point especially since it seems I've lost my sanity sometime during the night.

Mother always said it would happen if I kept working at night and it would seem Mother's right again.

When my eyes lock on those green words against the pale yellow background I can't help but feel as if they're taunting me. Like they're mocking me because _what the fuck_!? Where's the fucking fine print warning you that this shit will actually happen?

No, wait.

Deep breathe.

This isn't real. Yeah, there's no way this _can _be real. I mean, Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad? How the hell would he even end up here? In Southern California, roughly nine hundred years into the future? And even if he _was_ real he should be long dead.

Okay, think logically.

_I think logical already flew out the window, sweetie._

Then we have to get it back asap!

...

Great, now I'm talking to myself.

I don't have to look towards my doorway to know that _Altaïr _stands there but I ignore him either way and move to pick up my box of _Assassin's Creed_. There on the cover Altaïr stands, looking as lethal as ever and while I stare at the box I take a seat on my bed.

This isn't happening. It's not possible…

_But he's right fucking there._

Movement pulls my gaze back towards the door and I watch numbly as he approaches my seated form. This is…I need help! I launch myself from the bed and towards him before pushing and pulling him to sit on the bed. Once he's seated I spin around and swipe a pair of jeans from my closet along with a black sweater.

"Wait here, I need to get, um, decent," I mumble and head to the door before he can speak—not that he's been doing much of it. I don't know if he will stay and I little part me hopes that he'll disappear as I close the door behind me and race to the bathroom across the hall from my room.

Because I can't deal with this.

I'm not mentally prepared for this at all. Fuck I don't think anyone can be mentally prepared for a fictional character to come to life. Crap, I need help—desperately—and I know just who to go to. The one person I know won't call me batshit crazy the second I tell them just who he is but first, clothes.

No way in hell am I going to go out dressed in shorts and a tank top even if it's the middle of the night—_especially_ because it's the middle of the night. I'm kind of embarrassed already that I've been gallivanting around in shorts in front of a guess.

Mother would have cuffed my ears if she had been witness to that.

I change quickly once I reach the bathroom before racing back into my room. I'm more than a little hopeful that he's disappeared but as I open the door I find him exactly where I left him, sitting on the bed though he's now clutching the box of Assassin's Creed rather tightly in his hands.

Panic swells in my and as his golden eyes—aw, fuck, why are they gold, this just serves to prove my point—slowly lift from the box to me I gulp.

_Please, please don't freak out._

"That's you," I whisper as our eyes lock because there's a questioning glint to his eyes that I can't ignore. Plus, things might go a lot smoother if I explain to him what's going on. "That's you," I say again when his eyes widen in shock. "Some freaky shit is going on here so we need to go to someone who might be able to help us find out what's going on."

He goes back to studying the box for a bit before he nods and he hands the box back. He flexes his arms as I take it and I have to try really hard to ignore the quiet _snick-snick _of his hidden blade expanding and retracting.

He's testing it out, making sure it's ready for a battle he won't be seeing because I'm not about to let him go around killing people. I do not feel like dealing with the police right now on top of all this shit and I really don't think he'd do too well in prison—if he doesn't kill every police officer that comes after him that is.

Sure, his skills are top-notch but I'm not too sure how he'll fare against guns.

"I wouldn't use that if I were you," I comment nonchalantly as I grab my purse and keys and we exit the room. He trails casually behind me as we make our way to the front door and I don't turn back to look at him as I say, "And if you do use that on anyone I won't stop you from being imprison. You are no longer back in Masyaf, Altaïr. The rules here are far more different and the punishments harsher."

What his reaction to my words are I don't know because I don't bother to look. I just keep walking until we reach the front door and even then I don't look at him as I motion him outside and lock up.

Actually, know that I think about it, how can he be so nonchalant over this?

Does he know what exactly is going on?

Does he know he's just managed to jump into the future?

And if not than isn't he even just a little curious as to why a girl is wearing pants? Didn't girls only wear dresses in his time and isn't he worried that he's in unfamiliar territory? He's taking this all too calmly for my liking and once again I find myself wondering if this could just be some big joke.

If it is I'm so kicking someone's ass, along with his, of course.

Once I'm satisfied that all is secure I head towards my car with Altaïr once again trailing behind me. It's not until we reach the car that I realize that we might have just hit a snag. I mean, how am I going to explain to him what this heap of scrap metal called a car is?

Okay, scrap metal might have been too harsh.

The car—my car is a rundown Toyota, Corolla with more parts falling off than hanging on but it's my baby and I love him. It's my first car and was a high school graduation present from my parents, hence why it's so old.

They had fully expected me to total it when they bought it, but I proved them wrong. Me and my baby are going on four years. At this point I wouldn't change him for the world and I know the day he stops kicking is the day I'll bawl like a baby.

You bet your ass I'll hold a funeral for him.

I run my hand lovingly over the faded and chipped baby blue paint before unlocking the passenger door and opening it. I'm going to be in for a bit of a struggle, I just know it because he doesn't know what a car is and I'm going to have convince him that my car is not a monster and it won't kill him when I start it.

He better not stab my baby…

"Sit," I say when he just stands there and makes no move to get into the car. He does so hesitantly and I have to help him a little when he has no clue where to put his feet. Once he's seated, I close his door and quickly make my way to the driver side before he can panic.

I don't need him assuming I'm trapping him and have him destroying my car. Unlocking the driver side door, I wrench it open and cringe as the hinges creak horribly. I'll have to oil them soon, preferably before the hinges decided to give up on life and fall off.

Altaïr watches me as I slide in and I can tell he's calculating my every move so it makes me a little nervous when I realize I have to reach over to buckle his seatbelt. I could just leave him without the belt but I really don't want to risk a ticket or have him fly out the window if we get into an accident.

The chances are slim this late at night but I just really don't want to risk it.

I reach over him slowly and don't miss the way he tenses but I have nothing to worry about as I manage to buckle him up without incident. Now here comes the hard part. After buckling my seatbelt I put the key in ignition and let it sit there.

Fuck, my hands are getting clammy as I imagine just how badly he could react. I chew on my bottom lip nervously before turning to him.

"Don't get scared, okay? Sam here won't hurt you," I tell him nervously and yes, I named my car. Doesn't everybody? "He's a sweet little fella, but he's a little loud so don't stab him please. He's the only means of travel I have and I'll be lost without him," I say and when he nods I twist the key once.

As my car lights on with a beep I turn off the radio before it can make noise so it won't startle him. I twist the key a second time after I'm sure he won't stab my baby before placing my foot on the brake and turning the car on with what is a thunderous roar in the middle of the night.

Altaïr actually jumps—fucking _jumps—_at the noise and if it wasn't for the hidden blade I can see sliding out I would have been laughing hysterically. I grab his arm before he can stab my dashboard and possibly set off the airbag—if it has one. It's too old for me to be sure.

He ties to pull his arm from my grip but I keep hold of it and when he turns wide, golden eyes towards me and I give him a stern look. One I'm sure Mother would have been proud off.

"I thought we agreed on no stabbing," I hiss and he actually looks a little sheepish as I, slowly, let go of his arm.

It's actually kind of amazing that he didn't try to take a stab at me but I push the thought away and turn my attention back to my baby. As I take off the parking brake and shift the car into reverse I make sure to keep an eye on Altaïr's arm in case he wants to strike out again.

And because of this I get to witness an incredibly funny sight. One that makes up for the shatter chandelier—well, almost.

As I ease out of the driveway I have to keep from laughing as Altaïr begins looks around wildly when he realizes we're moving backwards. And if it wasn't because I have to watch where I'm going I would have been kept watching him look semi-ridiculous in his flustered state.

Malik would be rolling around the floor, laughing, if he could see how rattled the arrogant and confident Altaïr looked right now. He's clutching the arm rest in a death grip with his right hand while the other holds onto the dash. His eyes are everywhere though, flickering from me, to the dash, to where my hand is resting on the gear shift, to the widow, and then back to me.

Not that I don't feel bad for the poor guy.

He comes from a time where there is no such thing as electronics so I guess I should really take it easy on him. So I go slowly after pulling out of the driveway and shifting the car into drive. I go just under ten miles an hour until I'm sure he's calm enough.

Once he's as relaxed as he's going to get, I begin to go at the speed limit and head to the one person who can help me—us.

My best friend's house.

And I bet you think it's another geeky, four-eyed girl like me but you're wrong. First of all he's a boy; second he doesn't have glass; and lastly, he's not a geek but a nerd.

Yes, there's a difference.

His name is Gaston—No one's slick as Gaston, no one's quick as Gaston—that's right bitches, I am Lefou!

Nah, I'm just fucking with you. His name is Kenny and no he doesn't die once a day.

The drive to Kenny's house is short seeing as he lives only a few miles away but no sooner have I parked the car and turn off the engine than Altaïr is fighting—rather frantically—to get his seatbelt off while looking a tad bit green.

I guess he didn't like the ride.

I help him remove his seat belt before leaning over him and throwing his door open for him. He bolts out the car and I pretend not to see him upchucking on Kenny's lawn to preserve his dignity as I lock up the car.

Motion sickness?

You've have got to be kidding me. He jumps off five-story buildings and taller for fuck's sake. He even rides horses!

I give my baby a quick, comforting pat on his hood as if to tell him it's not his fault before approaching the poor man and helping him to his feet. He wobbles a bit but after he's steady, I take his hand in mine and tug him gently to Kenny's house.

_What have I gotten myself into?_

* * *

><p><strong><em>They're stealing my spaces! <em>**

**_No really, they are! _**

**_The document uploader is stealing the spaces between anything that is Italicized. I tried to get them all but I'm afraid I might of missed one, if I did please let me know so can fix it!_**

**_— Trixy_**


	3. Ch 2

**Chapter 2**

Kenny Chase.

A twenty-five year old college graduate with more than one degree tuck neatly under his belt. He's a nerd, my nerd, who works as an engineer for a big cooperation and, thanks to that, already owns a quaint—by choice—house.

Kenny's an oddity though, because he's not just your average run of the mill smart, he's IQ through the roof, holy fuck, child genius smart. He skipped grades and graduated high school at a young age. Because of that though he's never had many friends or girlfriends for that matter.

Sucks because he's actually extremely good-looking for a nerd.

He's got blonde hair that just falls so attractively into his baby blue eye and he's tall. The good tall, not the thin sickly kind, with a lean but muscular built. It's kind of amazing really that he hasn't found anyone yet but I think that might be because of his nerd out tendencies…

Once you get him going there's no stopping him.

I fish my keys out of my pocket as I approach his door while still tugging…Altaïr along. It's getting hard to say his name in my head because every bit of me is screaming, _"Get the shrink!"_

Once the door is open I flick on the lights and tug Altaïr in after me. He still looks a bit green and I sit him down on Kenny's cream-colored sofa before locking the door. After all escape routes are secure—because I highly doubt he'll figure out how to unlock a twenty-first century door—I make my way to Kenny's kitchen for a glass of water and some saltine crackers to help settle his stomach.

I also make sure to grab a couple of napkins as I go.

"Here, eat this, it should make you feel at least a bit better," I say as I return to him and hand him the glass before opening the crackers and wiping his mouth with the napkins a bit. Can't have him looking like he just puked up his guts. Once his dignity is preserved I leave him happily munching on the crackers with a mumbled, "Wait for me here."

It's the middle of the night but I know that, just like me, there's no doubt Kenny's still up. He's probably in his work shop either tinkering with one of his contraptions or trying to solve a difficult equation. My guess is proven correct when I enter his garage and find him scribbling furiously on a worn out piece of paper.

Instead of bragging in and dragging him away from his equations I decided to watch him work for a bit.

His dedication to his work is shown in his appearance and by that I mean that I'm sure he hasn't shaved in two days, his blonde hair has gotten so long that he needs to pin it back with bobby pins, and he's dressed in a plain white tee with more holes than Swiss cheese. It probably got caught in one of his machines.

It takes a while for him to notice me standing there and it's not until I shift to lean against the door frame that blue eyes flicker to me. A big smile graces his lips instantly and I can't fight my answering one as he scoops me up in a hug.

"Jen," he calls and I laugh as he twirls us around a bit before setting me back down on my feet. He gives me a once over to make sure I'm okay as he sets me back on the floor. "To what do I owe this pleasure, Miss Jennifer?" he asks while giving me a mock bow.

Normally I would follow his lead and joke and play until we can't do more than laugh but today isn't a game for jokes so I stay serious as I tell him, "We got a problem, Ken,"

He sobers up instantly like I knew he would because, when it comes to Kenny, I know I couldn't be in better hands. He gives a curt nod and waits for me to explain.

"You see—it's—there's—something—_someone_—he—no, it's better if you see it for yourself," I finally decided when I can't put what I need to say into reasonable words.

I tug him with me to his living room. Kenny's a nerd, not a geek, but that doesn't mean he doesn't play video games every once in a while—though I don't know if he'll recognize Altaïr as quickly as I did.

When we enter the living room, Altaïr's right where I left him and he looks the correct shade this time. Kenny's gaze lands on the unknown man in his living room instantly and he freezes as he looks at Altaïr. I can tell he doesn't make the connection when he turns back to me with a confused look. That's all I need to know this wasn't a prank on his part.

The silence stretches for what feels like forever though when Kenny finally speaks I've never wanted to face palm so much in my life!

"Why is there a Cosplayer sitting on my couch?" he asked and the plain confusion on his face throws _me _for a loop. I keep staring at him and I'm sure my eyes are as wide as his as we stare at one another completely dumbfounded.

"I'll admit, that's one hell of custom, I'm jealous, but why is he here? Did he get lost on his way to E3? Did you pick him up from E3?" he asks, coming out of his confused state first and he once again turns his blue eyes to Altaïr. "Wait? E3 was a few weeks ago…"

Wide blue eyes turn back to me in a flash and the intensity I see in them throws me for a loop before I can say anything in response.

"Did something happen? Did he do something? Oh no," he says and the despair in his voice keeps me in my stunned even when he turns—surprisingly—burning blue eyes to Altaïr. "Is he you're baby daddy, Jen?"

Where that one came from I'll never know but it's enough to send my rocketing out of my stunned state into a black spiral of murderous intent. I narrow my eyes and don't pause to think as I strike out and attack.

"Ouch! What fuck, Jen?" Kenny curses as I smack him. "I'm sorry; it's just that I don't see what the problem is. I mean, all I see is a guy cosplaying as Altaïr, sitting on my sofa, eating crackers, and the only problem I could come up with is that he knocked you up," he say as he shields himself with his hands as I continue to hit him with each offending word.

"When this is over we're going to have a serious talk about your opinion of me, Kenneth Chase," I scold and he gulps.

An awkward silence swallows us and it's not until he clears his throat and gestures questionably at Altaïr who's watching our exchange with unhidden curiosity that I finally relent and say, "So I'm guessing you don't recognize him?"

"No, did he used to go to our school or something?" Kenny asks and when I shake my head he gives me a confused look but instead of answering I approach Altaïr and take a hold of his arm. For some reason—I'm guessing it's the same reason I left him alone in my house _twice—_I feel safe around the lethal Assassin and I know he won't hurt me as I lift his left arm and points towards the hidden blade.

Kenny merely quirks a bow at it and I know it's because he thinks it as cheap, plastic, knock off most cosplayers wear. I motion him to come look at it and he does so but only after he rolls his eyes in exasperation at having to look at something he finds offending.

You see, Kenny's had a fascination with the Assassin's blades since he first saw me playing _Assassin's Creed._ The weapon's design intrigued him to no end especially since the Assassins had to remove their ring fingers to avoid accidentally triggering the blade and he even made a few replicas in his spare time. He had to get rid of them though and I rather not tell you why because it's quite an embarrassing story.

Still, after spending so much time researching, studying, and crafting he finds the plastic ones offending with all their imperfections and just horrible craftsmanship. Though the moment his eyes land on the weathered leather his eyebrows shoot upwards in amazement.

He marvels over the weapon while Altaïr twitches in his seat. He's uncomfortable with Kenny's closeness and it's understandable because, to an Assassin, being this close to another male either means he's going to be attacked by them or he's attacking them.

It's just how he was taught.

"I've never seen one so historically accurate," Kenny mumbles as he runs his fingers over it and he's so fascinated by it that he doesn't seem to notice the missing finger at all. Altaïr manages to stay still for longer than I expect before he roughly pulls his arm away from Kenny and quickly hides his blade. The movement snaps Kenny from his nerd (or is it geek?) haze and he stumbles back with a slight blush on his cheek. "I'm sorry; it's just that that is the most beautiful replica I've ever seen."

"It's not a replica," I mumble and Kenny gives me a confused look but I ignore it and grab Altaïr's hand again. "Take a look at this," I say as I turn his palm face up and point towards the missing finger. Kenny eyebrows draw together in confusion as his eyes run over the thick scar tissue.

Nothing about that scare reads "professional". It's sloppy and rough and, honestly, not that great to look at. It obviously wasn't done by a team of doctors and I can tell that Kenny's beginning to realize something is seriously off about this cosplayer when narrowed eyes turn my way.

"Jennifer." His voice is even, cool, the calm before the storm and it makes my heart race in indecision because what if he thinks I'm crazy and gives me the boot? What if I lose my best friend because of some overly dedicated cosplayer? "What is going on?"

"I don't know!" I yell as the frustration, anxiety, and dread comes to a head. "All I know is that one second I'm making myself some food then there's this huge crash and when I go to investigate, Mom's chandelier—the colorful one in the living room—is on the ground and fucking _Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad_ is in my fucking house," I rant and Kenny's jaw nearly touches the floor by the time I'm done.

Silence falls over us as Kenny shifts his gaze from Altaïr, to me, to Altaïr again.

"Jen," he finally says and when I turn to him I'm caught off guard by the amount of concern I see on his face. "Are you high? Did your baby daddy give anything illegal? Have you been drinking? Oh my god, is the baby okay? Please tell me you didn't drive Sam. Do I need to hide any bodies or buff out any dents? Are the cops on their way? Should I go get some cranberry—"

"Kenneth Chase," I growl, cutting him off and he stares wide-eyed at me as I glare at him. "I'm going to strangle you," I snarl as I advance on him because I'm just so fucking done. Done with all this bullshit and I really need to hit something or someone before I explode.

He scrambles away and falls to the ground as his long legs get tangled up under him but before I can pounce on him strong arms wrap around my waist and hold me back.

"You will rue the day you were ever born, Kenneth. This I swear," I yell as I struggle against Altaïr. A chuckle, deep and just so wow sounds in my ear and if I hadn't been so frustrated by everything I would have stopped to enjoy it. Instead I turn on him. "Oh, you want some of this too, huh?"

I attempt to claw at him but he grabs my hands and holds them in one of his instantly. It's not a fair fight, not with his skill and strength and I'm a complete idiot for challenging him. He's used to bringing down bigger and stronger men so he holds me easily as I try in vain to attack him. He continues to chuckle and I play with the idea of kneeing him in his special place.

You know, he's more-touchy feely then I would have expected of an Assassin.

"When did you learn to speak Arabic?"

Kenny's question catches me of guard and I let my leg go limp just inches away from its target.

"I didn't, I'm not," I say and give Kenny a confused look. His gives me a confused look in return and I turn to look at Altaïr thoughtfully. "Am I?" I'm asking no one in particular but it's Altaïr that answers and it kick starts the gears in my brain.

While the game was in English, the story took place in Jerusalem 1191 so it's impossible from them to actually speak English. But then, how is Altaïr understanding me?

_"Are you what?"_

He never responded to anything Kenny said and I thought it was only because he was being rude but what if he doesn't understand Kenny?

"Quick, Kenny, ask a question," I yell while still in Altaïr's grip. Kenny stares at me for a second before asking what I'm sure was the first question that popped into his head. Well, it better have been.

"Are you Jennifer's baby daddy, Altaïr?"

I've never wanted to face palm so bad in my life but I hold it back—well, I can't since Altaïr's still has a grip on my hands—and analyze Altaïr's reaction. Other than the tilt of a head at the end of the sentence, when he hears his name, Altaïr has no actual reaction to Kenny's words nor does he reply and I gulp at the implication of it.

I keep my gaze on him, making sure to lock eyes with him as I speak.

"Why don't you answer Kenny's question, Altaïr?" I ask and I almost hope he won't answer but when he does I know I've been speaking in Arabic the entire time I've been with him.

How in the hell is it possible?

_"What did he ask?"_Altaïr looks completely confused as he asks and it tells me he's not messing around. Arabic, I'm speaking Arabic without even trying to. I don't know if I should feel completely weirded out by it or overjoyed that I now know a third language—even if it only seems to be when I address Altaïr. My mind swirls with all the _how's_ and _why's_ but I have to take this one thing at time or else I'm sure I'll go insane.

_"How did you end up in my home?"_I ask and he seems to realize that the situation has taken a serious turn because he releases me and takes a step back. He lowers his chin and I know it's so that he can hide his face behind his cowl.

It's a defense mechanism and seeing him act so…assassin-like only helps to comfier my theory.

_"I don't know,"_he answers and I curse before turning to Kenny and repeating our short conversation to him. He looks Altaïr over and I can tell he's starting to believe me when he begins mumbling all the possibilities under his breath.

They range from a rip in the time space continuum to aliens to multiple universes and he'll keep going and repeating them until he finds the answer.

It's a habit he picked up while in college.

If anyone can find the most likely possibility—if not the answer— then Kenny and his big brain can. While he mumbles to himself I turn back to Altaïr. I don't know whether to tell him of just where he is or keep him in the dark until we get him home because we _will_.

Even if I die trying.

_But let's not go that far._

Shit, I don't know what I was thinking when I chose him. A fucking Assassin is ten times worse than Batman because Batman doesn't kill but with Altaïr…I've endangered just about everyone.

_"Do you know where you are?"_I ask and when all I get is a shake of his head, I turn to Kenny. "Do I tell him where he is, Ken? Or do we keep it on the down low?" I ask and Kenny's only response is first a nod and then a shake while he continues to think.

A 'yes' to tell him and a 'no' to waiting.

I take a deep breath before letting it out in a rush of words.

_"You're in America, year 2014,"_I say and watch as he slowly tenses up.

His eyes roam over everything around him almost as if he's seeing it all for the first time—which he technically is. They linger on the lights before shifting to Kenny's digital clock on the fireplace mantel. The letters are a bright blue and the time reads 3:37. It's pretty late but I know that's not why it holds his attention. He's never seen anything like it in his life and he was never supposed to either.

Well not until he gets his hands on the apple and it shows him glimpses of the future.

"What else where you doing before he showed up." Kenny's words cuts the silence and I don't take my eyes off of Altaïr as I try to remember a few minutes before making myself food and the crash. Oh, right, that picture.

"I was on the computer reading this picture," I mumble and turn to face Kenny as I speak again. "It said _'If you could bring one video game character to life, who would you choose?' That's_ the only notable thing I can think of before any of this happened," I answer and Kenny once again begins mumbling. I no longer hear him mumble the word Alien so I know he tossed out that possibility.

"What did you answer?"

I don't reply to him, I just let my eyes turn back to Altaïr who now stands in front of the digital clock. He's examining it and I have a strong urge to approach him before he can destroy it. I got to wonder though, is this Altaïr from before being stripped to a novice? If it were from before he was stripped of his rank I really expected a lot more cockiness but Altaïr seems more than a little mild-mannered.

Maybe I've been dealing with the Grand Master.

_"How is Malik?"_

Sometimes I really need to think before I speak and now is one of those times because as soon as Malik's name is out of my mouth, a shiny and very sharp blade is held against my throat. I find it kind of funny that it's taken him until now to pull that blade on me.

Not even when I had said his whole name had he attacked me. Could it be that Malik has become a sore spot to talk about because it was Altaïr's fault the man lost his arm? It still doesn't explain why he hadn't attacked me when I said his own name.

_"How much do you know?"_he asks and behind me Kenny gives a shout but I hold him off with a raised hand and meet Altaïr's heated gaze head on. The eagle vision! It must have either shone blue, white, or not at all. Still, why wait until now to interrogate me?

Had I shone blue?

Is that why he followed me willingly with almost no words at all?

_"It'd be easier for me to tell you what I don't know, like how you managed to jump at least eight hundred year into the future,"_I hiss at him before shoving his blade away from my throat—surprisingly—easily. There was no real weight behind the blade; he'd only done it to intimidate me and, I'm not going to lie, it gives me an ego boost to know that I had shown him I wouldn't bend under a threat. _"What where you in the middle of when you ended up at my house?"_

_"Evading guards,"_he answers after a bit of silence and suddenly I know what had happened to mom's chandelier. At the time of his transition from his world to mine he must have jumped towards a ledge or something and ended up grabbing mom's chandelier. Aw, shoot. I'm going to have to pay for that because there's no way Altaïr can.

You know, he _really_ is taking this a little too calmly for my liking.

Then again, he's trained to keep his cool in any and all circumstances, but shouldn't time travel call for at least some type of freak out?

"It was a rip in time space continuum," Kenny suddenly says. "It's the best I can come up with, so we need to go to your house, if we want to get him back home," he says before rushing out of the living room. I watch him go before turning back to Altaïr and wondering how to tell him what Kenny just said.

Straightforward would be best because there really isn't any other way to do this.

_"That guy, his name is Kenny and he's really, really smart. If anyone can get you home it's him,_" I say and pause to make sure Altaïr is following me before continuing_. "He thinks it's a rip in the time space continuum that brought you here and even if it sounds incredibly farfetched, it's the most likely answer we're going to get, so we're heading back to my house,"_I say and frown when Altaïr pales a bit.

_"In that monster?"_

I have to hold back a laugh at the question because he sounds more like a scared child than a fearsome master assassin and it's so adorable.

_"Sam's not a monster. He's just loud,"_I say and grab my pure and keys just as Kenny comes back dressed in dark jeans and a green hoodie. He has his own backpack thrown over his shoulder and I know it's filled with all his gadgets. _"He wouldn't hurt a fly and he's saved my life more times than I can count."_

The way I see it, making him believe that my car is actually alive is a hundred times easier than telling him my car is a metal death trap—because it kind of is when you take into account just how old it is.

I exit the house and head towards the car with Altaïr trailing after me while Kenny locks up.

Convincing Altaïr to get into the car consisted of some pushing and shoving but soon enough Altaïr's strapped in nice and tight in the back seat and we're off to my house. On the way there I translate the conversation I had earlier with Altaïr to Kenny and when I get to the bit about Altaïr being on the run from guards when he ended up here Kenny starts mumbling under his breath again.

Once we're at my house Altaïr, being the fast learner that he is, throws the door to my car open and rushes outside. He doesn't vomit this time but I can see that the ride had still nauseated him.

As soon as we enter the house Kenny and begins to give the place a one over.

"Do you see anything," I ask while do some searching myself even though I'm not sure what I'm looking for. Kenny's crouched over what's left of the chandelier with a small flash light, mumbling a mile a minute and I'm begin to worry that this may be too much for his big brain to handle.

"No," he says and I begin to worry that maybe it closed but Kenny begins to talk before I can voice my fear. "They don't close up like in the movies, Jen. So don't panic. A rip in the space-time continuum is like a rip in a piece of cloth. Unless we close it, it won't close on its own," he says and I nod even though he's not watching me. It's a relief to know that we don't have to worry about it closing before we can get Altaïr back home. "I just can't find it!"

I give Kenny a comforting pat on the shoulder and look up towards the ceiling. I stare up into the dark hole and my eyes catch a flash of color that I didn't notice before. I was standing on the opposite side when the chandelier first fell and because of the angle I hadn't seen it. But now I do and the pat on Kenny's shoulder turns into a tug as I try to get his attention.

"Ken, I found it!" I yell, he shoots up at the declaration, and looks to where I'm pointing. When he spots what can only be described as a swirl of colors he lets out a slow whistle. "Quick, to the attic," I yell and we both race up the stairs to the second floor of the house. My room's on the first floor because I have this huge phobia of heights but right now it's completely forgotten as it's pushed away by excitement.

Altaïr follows after us at calmer pace as we run to the end of the hall as quietly as we can before opening the door to the attic and rushing up the stairs. The excitement is visible in both of us but when we finally come face to face with the rip we freeze and simply stare.

There's something oddly beautiful about this rip. It's not as big as I expected. In fact it's pretty small, but it floats in the middle of the room and right above the hole I'm now sure a certain Assassin made. It has all the colors of the rainbow but the blue's stick out the most. We all stare in awed silence, including Altaïr, but when I unconsciously reach towards it Ken slaps my hand away.

"What the fuck are you doing, Jen?" Kenny yells and I blush before giving him a timid smile while shrugging. "Touching that could have sent you eight hundred years into the past or worse," Kenny yells angrily and my blush intensifies while I hang my head.

"Sorry, I wasn't thinking," I mumble before once again turning my gaze to the swirl. "So what now? What do we do? How do we close it? " I ask and Kenny shrugs off his backpack and begins rummaging through it.

He pulls all kinds of things from his bag that I can't even name and I watch him fiddle with them. He doesn't bother to explain what he's doing because we both know I won't understand it; no one would because this is Kenny and he's a fucking genius .

"I need some time to study it but, Jen?" he calls and I freeze as something in his voice causes dread to trail down my spine. "This is from a different time stream. It's_his_time stream," Kenny says casually and the words make me sick to my stomach as it finally hits me that this is really Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad.

The truth of the situation bares down on me and I turn to stare at Altaïr and see him in a whole new light. I guess, in the back of my mind, I had always been telling myself that this, that _he_ wasn't real.

But it's not impossible when you think about it. The universe is infinite so who's to say that this—Altaïr's story—didn't actually happen in some universe far, far away? In another dimension where he _did_ exist. Well, apparently it did and now, somehow, the fabric of time between our two universes/dimensions split.

He looks more deadly now than when I first laid eyes on him. He stands a few feet away from us and the dim light of the attic makes him look all the more sinister. And they way his cowl shields all but his lips and chin from view, makes him look _even more_ menacing.

The fear that I should have felt when I first realized that he was an Assassin finally hits and, when he takes a step towards me as he notices the unmasked fear on my face, I unconsciously take one back.

He's dangerous, a killer, a murderer. I've put Kenny's life in danger; if Altaïr decides that for whatever reason we need to be killed he won't hesitate to do it. If he feels we're a danger to his Brotherhood he'll kill us. He's killed many already so what's two more to that count and if this is pre-demotion Altaïr than we really won't survive.

Pre-demotion, that Altaïr, didn't even think twice about cutting down an innocent, old man even when killing innocents goes against his creed.

He has all his weapons so he's either from before or after the demotion.

_I really hope it's after._

"From what I can tell, without running any tests, is that it was forcibly torn," Kenny says—oblivious to the small confrontation going on between Altaïr and me. I make sure to keep Altaïr in my sights as I turn slightly towards Kenny. "Something ripped it to this size," he says more to himself than me while carefully running a pen along the jagged edges I've only just noticed.

"So you're saying someone or something _tore_ into our worlds?" I ask and doubt colors my words. What would have enough power to do that?

And in my attic?

I'm pretty sure no one in my family wanted to travel to Jerusalem, 1191—assuming that's where and when the rip opened up in, it could be Masyaf for all I know—and I really doubt anyone or anything in Jerusalem, 1191 had the power and technology to rip the fabric of time and space.

"No, the hole was already there but my guess is it was small. No bigger than a penny," Kenny says and I nod even though he's not looking at me. "_Something_made it bigger though, forced it to rip to this size," he says and I feel my eyebrows pull together in confusion. Already there? How is that possible? "There's rips everywhere around us but they're small, an atom or two at most but this one was big enough for something to hook into it and tear it," he answers before I can question.

"So how do we close it?" I ask.

Altaïr's golden gaze is locked on me as Kenny and I talk. I can feel it and I try my best to keep from meeting his gaze. I feel awkward, for lack of better words, to know that I had tried to feed pork to a Muslim. In my defense I didn't know at the time that he was actually Altaïr in the flesh and even after I began to realize who he was I kind of doubted he actually, truly was Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad.

"I'm not sure but it'll be tricky. I have to find a way to close it without damaging the 'fabric'. Hell, I don't know if I will even be able to," Kenny says as he finally turns to look at me and for a bit he says nothing. Kenny's smart and he can read the awkward tension from a mile away and I know he has when his gaze shifts questionably between Altaïr and I.

"I got to wonder though, Jen. Why close it?" he asks and I turn wide eyes to him as I wait for him to elaborate. "Since you showed up at my house all you've wanted is to get him home. I wouldn't expect that from you."

He's right.

I love _Assassin's Creed_, it definitely made it to the top five of my favorites—neck to neck with _Batman: Arkham Asylum_ and that's saying something when you take into account my love for the bat—but something in me screams dangerous and it has nothing to with Altaïr.

This is bad, I can feel it in my bones and not just for my world because if this _is_pre-demotion Altaïr his world is in danger too. Imagine a world where Altaïr disappeared and there was no one to stop Al Mualim.

What would become of his world?

Of the creed?

Hell, even if someone in his world managed to see through Al Mualim's corrupted ways and stooped him there would be no Desmond. Not without Altaïr, his ancestor. They need him so I need to get him back to his world that much is understandable but the same thing that screams danger, screams _'close it!'_and I'm not too sure why.

"A lot can go wrong if we don't."

It's the only answer I can give him at the moment but Kenny's played the game and he understands all I'm trying to say without actually saying it. He nods his head in understanding before turning back to the swirl and giving it a quick once over.

"Well, to get him back home all he needs to do is jump back through," he says as he shoves all his gadgets back into his back pack and throws it over his shoulder. "I can try to find a way to close it but it'll take a while so for now it'll stay open and if it stays open, well, we'll have to keep an eye on it in case something comes through."

That would be bad we both know this but before Kenny can say anything else he's interrupted by a loud shriek.

It's loud—downright eardrum damaging in the small attic—and it doesn't come from me or Altaïr or even Kenny. It comes from behind me and as I turn around to investigate the sound I get a face full of feathers. The shrieking, which I've just come to realize isn't really shrieking but squawking, increasing as I fall to the floor clutching a squirming mass of bird.

"What the hell?" Kenny yells as he watches the bird thrash in my arms before I give up on holding and let it go.

Miraculously I'm not injured and as I lay on my back I watch the bird, which turns out to be an eagle, fly around the room before settling on some old cardboard boxes. I know what that bird represents in the game but I wouldn't have though it would have actually been a part of the story if it had been real.

What would they need the bird for?

It doesn't actually point out buildings from them to scale so they can map out the cities, does it?

I watch as Altaïr approaches the bird and it easily hopes onto his arm with only a small _'caw'._ They're a sight to see, those two and as I climb to my feet I don't tear my eyes off them.

Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, the born and bred, top of his class, golden-eyed master Assassin.

_The eagle_.

Kenny keeps his eyes on them too but when the bird leaps off Altaïr's arm and flies back into the swirl Kenny and I share a glance. It's urging him to follow and when Altaïr doesn't the bird flies back through the swirl and towards him.

These birds are more than just your average eagles and it noticeable in the way it tries to urge Altaïr back home. He—something tells me it's a he—has been trained to pick an Assassin out from a crowd. To cry out and signal to them once they do.

He's been trained to lead an Assassin to where they need to be and it's honestly disturbing to see it fly between our two worlds as it tries to get Altaïr to follow. It causes the hairs on the back of my neck to stand. Every fiber of my being knows that this just shouldn't be happening and as I watch the eagle fly through the swirl once more I get a little queasy.

It feels wrong in so many ways and there's just no explanation as to why.

Whereas I'm watching the bird continuously fly between our dimensions, Altaïr's still got his golden gaze on me. Kenny stands back as he too watches the bird and says nothing. The awkward tension still hangs heavy in the air and no one makes a move to break it. We all just stand there quietly, staring while the bird seems to grow more desperate.

It continues crying as it flies back and forth for a while before finally rushing towards me. I yelp as it shoots at me and don't have enough time to duck or move as it plummets into my chest, knocking me off balance, and sending me crashing to the ground with a yelp.

Or at least it would have if I hadn't been standing so damn close to the swirl.

The world spins and a rainbow of colors envelop me as I fall into the swirl. Both Kenny and Altaïr shoot towards me as I get swallowed up by the swirl. Kenny's hand wraps around my flailing arm and Altaïr manages to grip the edge of my sweater but it's too late.

All it does is pull them after me because, while the swirl is small, it's like being thrown into a fast-moving river and the current swallows us up like nothing.

_Fuck!_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 3**

I can't breathe.

There's something heavy on my chest and I can almost hear my ribs creaking in protest as the weight on me doesn't move. As I struggle to take a breath the weight on me shifts and any air I had managed to take in gets stolen from me.

I know what the weight is, or more like whom, and as I feel myself getting dizzy I can only hope they move before I pass out.

It's my fault I'm in this situation to begin with so I'm not angry. I mean, it's my fault we've been thrown at least eight hundred years into the past and ended up like this. Apparently the opening here is as high as the one back home—three stories high—and because Kenny and Altaïr tried to stop me from falling they've been dragged in along with me.

So we ended up like this, (luckily enough) in a cart full of hay (unfortunately) with the boys damn near crushing me to death as we plummeted from the sky and crashed into the cart.

I can hear the eagle cry as it flies above us and something about that cry just sounds so smug. And if it weren't because I'm a bit busy right now being squished to death I would have hunted him down—the eagle that is. I guess that explains how the eagle had managed to continuously pass through the swirl.

It's high enough for him to pass back and forth undisturbed.

Finally, after what feels like hours but was probably no more than a minute, the bodies on me move off and I take in a huge breathe. Arms pull me from the cart and I cough as I accidentally inhale little pieces of hay.

"Jen! Jennifer, are you okay?" Kenny asks as he and Altaïr lower me to the dirt floor while I gasp for air and cough up hay bits at the same time.

More than just my chest ache and I can feel my leg throb painfully. I really hope I didn't break it. I point to my right leg while I cough and Kenny quickly begins to check it after settling my miraculously still intact glasses on my nose. Altaïr watches on while throwing looks over his shoulder every few seconds.

We've drawn the attention and I struggle to get my coughs under control before we draw anymore.

Though it's only as my eyes meet those of Altaïr that my coughs subside.

I keep my eyes locked with his as I take a shaky breathe through my nose. His gaze is calming in a weird way and I can feel myself relax even though I know I should be panicking. I mean, I'm in Jerusalem, 1191! In Altaïr's time stream no less. Where there are Templars and Assassins and thieves and guards and evil little birds that like to throw people into different dimensions.

"It's not broken," Kenny says as he pulls away and gives me a once over. He grimaces when his eyes reach my hair before reaching up and plucking hay from my hair. There's hay in his hair too but the color matches so it doesn't stand out as much as it does in my brown hair.

I run my fingers through my hair to help him get all the hay out but say nothing because I know he's on the verge of a freak out.

It's noticeable to me only because I know Kenny isn't one to care much for appearance–neither mine nor his—and the fact that he's paying attention to mine points to him being nervous. His hands are also shaking the tiniest bit. Just small trembles that I wouldn't have noticed if they hadn't been brushing against my scalp.

Kenny's a child genius, a twenty-five year old college graduate with more than one degree but no matter how smart he is, traveling to another dimension would freak anyone out.

Strike that.

Except Altaïr since he seems to have taken this all in stride.

Both times.

"Ken," I call as I take his trembling hands in mine and bring them to my chest. His eyes meet mine as I do and I can see all the restrained fear in them. "It's okay, we'll be fine. Besides, we have each other," I say and Ken gives me a shaky nod and I smile at him while I release his hands. "Good, now help me up."

Growing up, it was always Kenny and I.

Kenny's big brain made him the outcast, the black sheep. It caused him to skip grades and so he never really made any friends. Me, well, I was an outcast by choice, more or less. I didn't want to play with Barbies or makeup.

I wanted the cool remote-controlled car and video games so the other girls found me weird and stayed away. Our parents were lucky that we were neighbors or I'm sure both of us would have gone without friends.

Since I can remember it's always been Kenny and I.

Kenny reading books on the couch while I sat next to him playing video games. Kenny working on some contraption or the other while I tapped away on my Game Boy. Kenny helping me with my homework, Kenny and me at the beach and the park and the pool. It's always been Kenny and I. And, now, it's Kenny and I in _Assassin's Creed_.

Just dear lord don't let it be _Assassin's Creed_ one.

I'll take _Assassin's Creed: Altaïr's Chronicles _even if it means having to put up with Maria.

Kenny drags me to my feet and quickly throws my arm over his shoulder so I won't have to put any weight on my right leg. It doesn't stop it from throbbing and I take a deep, shaky breath. The pain is close to unbearable but the knowledge that we could be in possible danger keeps me from whining.

Kenny's tall form is enough to keep most of the weight off my leg, though and it makes it just a tiny bit bearable.

Altaïr's gaze hasn't left my form since we've locked eyes and it's only when someone runs up to us that they finally do.

"Altaïr!"

His golden gaze shifts to another hooded figure and for a bit ice cold fear flows through my veins before I realize that Altaïr hasn't moved to attack. It's as I notice this that I take a closer look around me and find that the streets are full of cloaked men.

Men in white tunics and dark blue robes, some with hoods pulled up and others with hoods pooled around their necks. Of course there's the occasional woman in whit tunics thrown into the mix of but the number of men far out weight them. Most women wear pale colored robes as they walk among the hooded men without fear or hesitation.

We're at their headquarters!

We're at Masyaf!

Relief fills me so deeply I get light-headed and have to lean into Kenny to keep us both from toppling over. Altaïr gives me a look filled with curiosity as he realizes my reaction but before I can feel any embarrassment, his words from earlier drift into my mind.

He said he had been running from guards…

"Dirty fucking lair," I hiss under my breath and I feel Kenny start as he manages to catch my words. "He fucking lied to me," I hiss louder as I glare at Altaïr and ignore that all my hissing has manages to catch the attention of the man talking to Altaïr.

The man turns to look at me, a quick snap of his head in my direction as he clearly hears my cursing. And I would have laughed at his surprise over my foul language if his hood hadn't fallen, if my eyes hadn't locked with chocolate-brown ones.

If I hadn't recognized those curious brown eyes that peer at me from beneath shaggy black hair.

My world comes to a crashing halt as I stare at the man, my heart stops and blood chilling fear fills me. Every hope I had of this being Grand Master Altaïr dies a horrible, painful death as I watch while _two_hands come up to pull his hood back over his head.

It was all of five seconds, but his appearance has been forever burned into my mind. His face dances in my mind's eye and it's only after his face is safely hidden in the shadows of his hood that my heart sputters back to life, hard and fast.

_"Malik."_

It's a strained—almost a whine—sound and it takes me a while to realize that I'm the one who made the noise.

Altaïr's eyes take on a whole new level of curiosity while the man—_Malik—_just looks questionably between Altaïr and I.

Obviously he's not sure if he should respond to the call of his name and he continues to shift his gaze between us in indecision. Though finally his gaze settles on Altaïr and I know I've been ignored and that's completely fine by me.

Kenny's grip on me tightens; he hasn't quite gripped the severity of the situation but my reactions enough for him to know that something's wrong.

Very, very wrong.

But, even though I'm aware of all the danger this could possibly put us in a little voice in the back of my head asks if maybe I'm just over-reacting. Sure this is pre-demotion Altaïr who does what he wants, kills when he pleases and bends the rules to his favor….

We are so fucked.

The scream of _'close it'_and _'danger'_come back like never before, louder and insistent and actually makes me somewhat dizzy as the words continue to circle around my head.

"Altaïr, who are your companions?"

Malik's voice is nonchalant, borderline bored, but you can tell there's restrained curiosity from the way he hasn't taken his eyes off us and I don't fault him for being curious. We must be a sight to see with our weird clothing and Kenny's weird hair and eye color.

I'm sure most of them aren't used to seeing a blue-eyed, blonde-haired man—traveling Assassins or not.

Kenny tenses under Malik's hidden gaze but tries to appear nonchalant as well.

I'm pretty sure Malik sees right through it, though.

As an Assassin he has to be aware of every little thing, including the mood of the people around him. One angry citizen is all it takes to blow your cover after all and a suspicious guard is all it takes for all of them to come after you, swords drawn.

Altaïr hasn't moved his gaze from us, not since I muttered Malik's name and I shift uncomfortably under his heavy gaze.

"It matters not," Altaïr finally says as he rips his gaze away from me and turns towards Malik. "What business have you?" he asks Malik and Malik gives him a curious glance before finally tearing his gaze from us as well.

"The Master has called for us," Malik says nonchalantly again and those words make my heart clench so tight that tears actually pool at the corners of my eyes.

I may not know the man—not really anyways—and his appearance might have shattered any hope that this was—that we were past Altaïr's demotion but my heart aches at the thought of what Malik will have to go through in the following days.

Because somehow I know, without a doubt, that he will lose his baby brother on this mission.

I know that his mission will be to go to Solomon's Temple.

I move my gaze to my feet as tear well up into my eyes.

A little selfish—or would it be selfless—part of me wants me to beg Malik not to let Kadar—his brother—go with them on this mission. Wants to tell him Altaïr will get Kadar killed and cause him to lose his standing as a master assassin but I hold back because it must be done and I can't meddle.

Their story's already been written in the stars.

Who knows what will change in the future if Kadar doesn't die on this mission. It could be something inconsequential or it could be something horrible either way I mustn't change Desmond's future.

Because changing Desmond's future would be endangering the world, _their_ world.

Cool, callous finger gently tilt my head up and the movement cause the building tears to fall and trail down my cheeks. Gold eyes meet mine while a pair of brown eyes watch confused as he too notices the tears.

_'Tell him, tell him, tell him,'_ it's the chant that's swirling in my head as thoughts about what will soon happen fill my head and thoughts of Malik—whose only ever had his brother—join them as well. I know he suffered from the loss but the game never shows you just how much.

A picture of an armless Malik, slumped over a grave, and in tears brings more of them to my eyes.

Video games.

Made for entertainment, a distraction to pass the time, but like everything else—even if you try to deny it—you grow attached. The character's pain becomes yours and their deaths shake you to the core. Joker's death in _Batman: Arkham City_ had been the worst I'd ever experienced.

It had been like a bullet through my heart. It had left me raw in so many ways and before I knew it I was a bawling blundering mess as I stared in horror at the television.

I had grown so close to the raving lunatic while playing the game. I looked forward to his tricks, I couldn't wait to fight him and his goons again but when I saw him stutter out his last breath my world had come to a screeching halt.

My heart had stopped beating and the tears had poured, unnoticed, from my eyes before I could register what had actually happened.

_You grow attached._

To you they become real and to see them die…it shatters your world and pulls the rug right out from under you.

I haven't been able to play the game ever since. It still lays, unfinished by my console and I don't think I'll ever be able to pick up the controller and play it again because Joker had been special. He meant more to me than anyone can ever know or realize and to see him die, to be the reason for his death…it fucked me up in all kinds of ways.

A thumb wipes away at the tears and I don't realize I've been pulled from Kenny's grip until a warm (_kind,_ _soothing, comforting_) hand lands on my hip. His golden eyes bore into mine but can't look into his because my eyes are drawn back to Malik.

This time he doesn't hide his curiosity as he openly stares at us.

"Go on ahead Malik, I will follow as soon as I have finished with…them," Altaïr says, hand still on my hip and thumb still wiping away tears. If Malik has any objection he doesn't voice them as he only bids Altaïr goodbye and walks to wherever it was he was headed.

The moment Malik is out of hearing range though all the comfort bleeds out from Altaïr's grip. Fingers dig into my hip and he tilts my chin up further, forcing me to look into his eyes and there's a dark look in that gaze that reminds me that this Altaïr will do whatever the fuck he wants.

"Tell me what you know."

His words don't startle me.

Hell, with how observant as he is, of course he would know I'm hiding something. I keep my mouth shut though and defiantly try look away but he doesn't let it go that easily. His fingers dig deeper into my hip, no doubt leaving behind bruise and I have no choice but to look at him as they continue to tighten.

"Tell me," Altaïr growls but I just quirk an eyebrow at him even as his hand tightens on my chin.

I want to tell him, I really, _really_, do because maybe that way he won't act like such a self-righteous bastard. Plus it hurts to know that soon Malik will lose his brother but sometimes you have to look at the big picture and that big picture is Desmond.

I have to make sure that, when the time comes, Desmond will be able to save the world, his world and I think saving billions of people is more important than one…no matter how much it may hurt….

And the best way to do that will be to get out of here, go home, close the 'fabric', and pretend none of this ever happened.

My heart gives a painful clench at that thought alone.

The fuck?

Why would thinking about leaving even hurt? It's only natural for me to go back to my own world, right? I can't stay behind, not when my family, my—few—friends and life are over there.

Who the fuck gives up their whole world for a man anyways? Not that the whole reason I want to stay behind is for him or anything. No, definitely not. I want to stay behind to help everyone out, right?

I'm jarred out of my increasingly weird thoughts—which I'm deciding right here, right now to ignore and never think about again—as Altaïr releases me. With surprising care he pulls away from me when he finally realizes that I'm not going to tell him anything.

My leg aches as I stand on it but it's not like I can go forever without feeling pain. Sometimes you just have to muscle through and with that thought I brush off Kenny's attempt to help me again and look expectantly at Altaïr.

His stupid bird got us into this mess so it's up to him to get us out.

"So, how are you getting us home?" I ask and Altaïr's gaze shifts up to the swirl that dangles above our heads as he realizes that I'm expecting him to do something about our situation.

I'm surprised no one has notice the swirl, actually—then again, no one looks up in his world unless they're Assassins. And even then no Assassin looks up when they're in their home turf.

He says nothing as Kenny and I also look up towards the swirl and I got to wonder how in the hell it was possible for all of us to survive that fall without any serious injury.

_'Video game logic, Jen. Video game logic.'_

When it comes to video game logic a person can throw themselves off a five-story building and land safely in a pile of hay just like a fat, Italian plumber can jump six feet in the air. Oh, and an evil little bird can be the cause of all your problems.

My last thought is punctuated by a loud _'caw'_and I can't help myself as I give the little fucker flying over head a middle finger salute.

Ken gasps as he sees what I'm doing but I ignore him and turn back Altaïr.

"The Master has called for me, this will have to wait until another time," he says and it takes a moment for the words to register but once they do I gawk at him.

I understand that pre-demotion Altaïr basically kissed the ground Al Mualim—the 'Master'—walked on but seriously? How can seeing what Al Mualim wants be more important than what just happened, all that he's witnessed? Then again, Al Mualim is the closest thing to a father Altaïr ever had even if he is the 'bad guy' of the story.

"Come," Altaïr calls as he begins to walk away.

Ken and I share a look before we follow after him with me limping something bad. Kenny offers to help but I turn him down and together we trail after Altaïr as he leads us up to the Assassin's castle—because, really, it's a fucken castle and it's fucking beautiful.

It's a huge, looming stone building and as we walk up the small hill towards it I finally realize just how hot it is. It's the middle of the day here and it makes sense that it would be, seeing as The United States of America is kind of on the other side of the planet.

I take off my sweater as we walk and tie it around my waist but as we go I can't decide if it was a smart idea or not since the sun now bears down on the exposed skin of my arms. Many eyes are glued on us as we walk and by the time we reach the castle gates I deeply regret removing my sweater.

My outcast status has made me more than a little sensitive to scrutinizing stares and I know Kenny feels some of it too when he pulls the hood of his green sweater over his head.

When it comes to us, I'm the antisocial one and Kenny's just socially awkward. I hate being in crowds and around people and Kenny just doesn't know _how_to be around people. You can trace that right back to our childhoods.

Thing is, I don't know if I hate it or not, if being antisocial and addicted to video games got me Kenny then how can I hate it?

I'd rather have one friend who means the world to me than to have a whole bunch that I don't really care for.

We pull stares as we walk into the castle and I'm sure the guards at the gate would have stopped us had Altaïr not held his hand out to stop their approach. I force myself to walk as normally as I can under the weight of all the Assassins' stares.

All of the people in the castle except Kenny and I are Assassins and it's a little unnerving.

We could both be killed in the blink of an eye and I don't think we'll respawn.

Video game or not.

We pass through the crowded courtyard in silence and my ankle throbs with every step but I bear it with gritted teeth. Something tells me I could easily become prey to these trained killers if I show any signs of weakness. Though I'm pretty sure they've already zeroed in on my injured leg I'd rather not be seen as the damsel in distressed that had to be carried in.

Men and women alike—though once again there's a lot more men than woman—dressed in traditional Assassin robes, fill the courtyard while boys and girls—ages raging vastly from ten to eighteen—circled eagerly around the training ring in the center of the courtyard where a pair of boys fight.

Spar actually, and from the looks of it—thankfully—with wooden swords. The boys—obviously in their late teen—dodge, duck, and swing expertly. It looks almost like a dance as they perform learned maneuvers perfectly.

They're too evenly matched, it's noticeable in the way they counter each other flawlessly. They dodge, duck, and swing in sync and I can't tell if it's because of too much time spent practicing together or if they're both just that good but a part of me is betting on the former.

Cheers erupt from the watching crowd every time a hit is landed and even though the swords are wooden you can tell they're swung to cause damage.

_Old time rivals, eh?_

Their mentor—easily noticeable because he's the only one wearing Mentor robes in the group—stands proudly in front of the fighting ring. He occasionally cheers on the sparring boys and yells out advice as well. Neither looks any closer to winning though and it's beginning to look like the only way this fight will end is when they both tire out.

For some reason just that thought has a fire growing in my belly.

If their fucking mentor knows that they can't beat each other why does he still pin them against one another?

All he's doing is making them dislike each other more, not grow in skill and isn't the 'Brotherhood' all for one and one for all? How the fuck will they be able to abide by that when all they'll be thinking about is how the other thinks he's better? This is doing nothing but ruining any chance of them getting along.

Next thing you'll know they'll end up like…

_Altaïr and Abbas…_

And look how great that fucking turned out.

"Fucking retard is stunting their growth," I grumble angrily under my breath as I continue to watch the spar.

One of the boys, the taller of the two, swings and I realize his mistake as the same time as his partner does as he jabs his swords forward. A sharp crack fills the air, somehow still incredibly loud as it reaches me and I flinch.

Dear lord, that must have fucking hurt.

I quickly turn my gaze away while cheers erupt from the ones watching.

The boy's cry of pain is swallowed up by the cheers and I'm oddly thankful because I don't think I would have been able to keep myself from running over and cursing out the mentor if I had heard it. It's his job to train these novices but it's also his job to keep them safe and if he knows these rivals are a hair's breath away from causing each other serious injury why would he still make them fight?

I don't realize that I've actually stopped to stare at the fight—much less approached the training ring—until a hand lands on my shoulder.

A lightly tan hand pulls me from the scene and I go willingly because I seriously do not what to see how the boy ended up. It rubs me the wrong way that Mentors would do this to their students but there's nothing I can about it.

So with a troubled heart I follow as Altaïr leads us to a hidden door that I've never seen in the game. It's a wooden door kept out of sight from training equipment and I eye it curiously as we near it.

_Huh? Guess the game removes unnecessary objects._

A wall of cool—well, colder than outside—air hits us as we enter through the door and I bask in it.

The thick stone walls keep out the worst of the heat and I sigh in relief while Ken quickly removes his hood. We're definitely going to need more appropriate clothes if we're going to be here a while—which I really hope we're not. I mean, Kenny and I have work and I really don't feel like getting fired for missing a few days.

Altaïr leads us down the dark, cold corridor of the castle and as we take many twists and turns I begin to wonder if we'll ever make it back out and if there is the tiniest bit of a chance that Altaïr's doing this on purpose to make sure we don't know the way out. Before I can come to a decision on just what Altaïr is trying to do he comes to a stop in front of a wooden door.

_His quarters!_

It has to be but I don't ask as he leads us inside, instead I immediately sit onto the bed. My ankle still throbs and I slowly lift it onto the bed and take of my shoes with the hopes of alleviating some of the pain.

"Stay here, I will be back soon."

He doesn't wait for a response, just simply shuts the door behind him as he steps out of the room, leaving Kenny and I alone.

Silence stretches around us as we stare at each other in disbelief while the reality of our situation finally washes over us. A giggle escapes me lips before I can hold it back and even though I try to fight it's soon followed by another one and another one until I'm howling on the bed with delirious laughter.

Kenny for his part just stares, eyes getting wider by the second until they're the size of saucers and his breath comes out in short pants.

"Well, aren't we fucked," I say around my laughter, ignoring Kenny's raising panic attack as I sprawl onto the bed.

"And it's all your fault," Kenny accuses, a fear not to his tone and I nod my head thoughtfully.

"Yup," I agree as Kenny sits on the edge of the bed and buries his head in his hands. "I didn't mean to though, honest. Fuck, it wasn't even entirely my fault. The god damn bird pushed me in," I mutter. "Don't worry, we'll get back."

"How," he groans and I roll my eyes at his melodramatic behavior.

"There _is_ a way back, Ken, we just have to wait for Altaïr to get back so can help us get back on top of that building without getting in trouble," I explain as I run a soothing hand across his back.

"Do we _have_to wait for him?"

"Yeah, kind of. I mean, you know the guards hate it when we jump across the roofs as _Altaïr._Imagine how they'll react seeing two weirdly dress people scaling their homes," I explain and Kenny nods his agreement.

"You're right."

I stand once he's calmed down and test my leg out, adding different amounts of pressure to check the severity of it. It's not _bad_ but it can easily get there if I'm not careful so I sit back on the bed.

Just my luck.

Of course I _would_get injured when there's an amazing world laid out in front of me to explore. Sure, I know this map like the back of my hand but just the thought of being able to experience everything first hand, to see the fountains and library in person makes me giddy.

Man, I bet the gardens look_amazing_.

The interior of Altaïr's room looks bleak though. There's not much in the way of décor and, other than the bed, there's only a dresser and a desk with its accompanying chair. The room looks unlived in, no knickknacks or personal possessions and it's kind of expected.

He spends so much time away, on missions, that I'm sure he doesn't spend much time here at all.

As I let my eyes run over the room, I pause at the basket of fruit on the desk. So many different types of fruit sit in the fruit basket, some of which I can't name but when I spot a red apple my gaze locks on it. It sits right on top of the others, a red beacon of deliciousness and I ignore the pain in my ankle as I limp over to it.

The first bite is wet, crunchy, juicy and I salivate uncontrollably as I munch on it.

"You know, I always did wonder just how Al Mualim managed to make Altaïr forget," Kenny mumbles as he lounges on the bed and I turn my gaze back to him now that I have my prize in my hand. He's the perfect picture of relaxation as he lays sprawled on the bed.

"Forget what?" I ask as I take a bite of the apple. Apples are delicious and this particular one tastes like heaven. I just wish I had some salt and lemon to go with it. Or at least some chili powder. Ken's eyes turn to me at the sound of a particularly wet crunch and I hold the apple out as an offering. "Want some?"

"No thank you," Ken answers and I move back to the bed, clambering up onto it when I reach it. He doesn't speak while I find a comfortable position to sit in though once I do he explains. "I understand that in Video game logic we can survive that three-story fall without any severe injuries but how can a _Master Assassin_forget how to counter an attack? I'm pretty sure that he's known that move for years now and it should have become second nature too so just _how_?"

His question catches me of guard and I freeze mid-bite and stare back at him with wide eyes.

He has a point.

Just what did Al Mualim _do_to Altaïr to make him forget? Altaïr's parents were both Assassins and he would have grown up in these walls surrounded by the Assassin's teaching. Training everyday may not seem like the ideal way to spend your time but I don't doubt that's how an Assassin's life would have led.

Countering is a basic move, which is why it's the first move you get back but because it's also basic it should be one of the first moves Assassins would learn in training so _how_?

Al Mualim is not a wizard as far as I know—even though he kind of has the beard for it— so how did he manage to wipe Altaïr's memories of training, of how to counter and dodge?

Demotion is one thing but how do you make someone forget…

How do you make someone experience death's embrace while still being perfectly healthy and alive?

The answer comes to me in a bolt of shocking realization.

My hand goes limp, the apple falls, and I as it bounces almost mockingly on the bed. I stare at it in horror as it rolls towards me and scrabble to get away from it even though I know the fear is irrational. This is just a fucking apple.

A delicious round fruit that grows in trees but to my mind's eye it's so much more.

It's why Adam and Eve were cast out.

What parted the Red Sea.

How water was turned into wine.

"The apple! He's going to use the apple to fuck with Altaïr's mind!"


End file.
